


A Tale of Two Kingdoms

by lestracle



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Fluff, M/M, Prince Mycroft, but i don't really know much about history, king greg, mystrade, royallock, so forgive my innacuracies, sort of medieval au???, will add more tags as it progress!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-18 19:25:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5940349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lestracle/pseuds/lestracle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At seventeen, Greg was quickly pushed into the life of a king and all it entails. After losing his father and mother, the last thing Greg needs is to stay true to his arranged marriage to a king he had never met. But he never wanted to let his father down, even in death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Super excited to share my love for medieval mystrade with you all!   
> I'm so sorry if there are any inaccuracies - I've never really had an interest in history - but this is my version of the world that they live in. This first chapter might be a little disjointed and dodgy, but if you stick with me I promise it'll flow better!   
> Also, it's not beta'd so I'm sorry if there are any errors!

Gregory Lestrade had always known that he would never marry for love. As the only heir to the throne of his father's kingdom, he knew that his marriage would be strategic and planned so it would benefit his father's lands. It wasn't ideal for the young prince, but it was understandable. Well, it was only understandable since it had been imprinted in his mind from a young age, but it made sense that the soon-to-be-king should always have his land's wellbeing at the front of every one of his decisions. 

The prince had never once been allowed to roam the streets outside of his father's caste; he had never interacted with the village folk that lived right outside his front door. Greg had never had friends other than his butler - whose friendship had to be kept secret from his father - and his Royal Advisor, Sally. Despite his two friends, Greg had grown up a lonely child, knowing that he would one day inherit the kingdom that his father ruled over with an iron fist, choosing fear over love, and have to marry someone he had never set eyes on before. Instead of fearing his future, however, the young prince had taken his duties on with a smile, winning his teachers over with a joke and a cheesy grin. Everyone described him as the polar opposite of the man who currently sat on the throne, although no one could say that to the king's face, and his teachers and the servants in the castle were enthusiastic to spend as much time tending to the boy prince as was possible. 

Greg was only seventeen when the inevitable happened. One day he was reading in his chambers, a cup of hot tea by his side and a dozen candles illuminating his bedroom with a soft, angelic glow; and the next, he was leaned over a desk with his hand forced through his hair as he signed various treaties and laws, a pile of papers to one side that he daren't look at. His father's funeral papers. His own coronation papers. Sally wanted him to look through them as soon as possible, but Greg couldn't face them just yet. No one had even known the king was sick - the former king, now. Not even Wilson, the king's Royal Advisor, had been aware that his health was deteriorating. And then, one day, a fearful and skittish servant had found the king lain dead in his bed, a note rolled on his desk addressed to only be read by Greg. 

" _Dearest Gregory,_

_I know my death will come as a shock to you, and to everyone in our kingdom, but I simply could not disclose information of my illness. I am aware that most believe me to be tyrannical and uncaring, especially after the passing of my beloved wife, and I would not blame you for thinking the same of me, but all I wished for was that you focussed on your studies and your responsibilities rather than worrying about myself._

_You will make the most fantastic king, I know, my son. Please forgive me for leaving you so soon - I had wished to see your wedding day and congratulate you on finding happiness and companionship with another - but I had no choice. The fates have not been kind to our family. Although we may be blessed with wealth and power, we are also cursed to be alone with so many people surrounding us. Do not curse your betrothed with the same fate I cursed my beloved wife with. Bless them with the life that I should have been able to give you._

_I suppose I should tell you what you have always wanted to hear, and I can only_ _regret it will not come from my mouth itself. Your betrothed hails from the kingdom of King of England, Siger Holmes. He is second in line to the throne and will unite our two lands, providing unlimited opportunities for trade and wealth. I do hope I have made the correct choice for you, my dearest son. Be kind to him, just as I am sure he will be to you._

_I am truly sorry I will no longer be there to guide you and assist you in your journey through life, but I will miss you every day I reside in heaven, and your mother and I will be smiling down on you and your husband._

_I love you unconditionally, dearest Gregory. Even if I may not always have shown it._

_Forever,_

_Your father_ "

It had only been one day since the king's passing, but Greg had read those words so many times that he could recite them if he so wished to. But those words were for his eyes and no one else's; not even Sally's. It was the first real confession of love Greg had ever heard from his father, and yet them as though they were centuries old. They were words Greg would never forget, not for as long as he lived. 

Even through the haze of his father's confessions, the knowledge of who the prince was to marry was still startling. A prince from England. Suddenly all of his lessons from his youth made sense. Learning English alongside French, the native language of his country, was to ensure Greg could communicate with his to-be-husband. Being taught traditional English dances was to prepare Greg for his first marriage dance. It had all settled into place in the prince's mind, yet none of it seemed real. Not his father's death, not his upcoming coronation, and certainly not his swiftly arriving marriage. 

-

By the time the month was out, Crown Prince Gregory Lestrade was no more. Just a few days after his father's passing, Greg had conceded and allowed Sally to bring him the coronations and had organised it in one night. He hated being the centre of attention almost as much as he hated public speaking, however the new-king knew that it was what his father would have wanted for him. Just a few days after that, the whole kingdom had come together to bury the former king in the crypt of the Lestrade family. 

Since the burial, Greg had refused to entertain any of his court; closing the doors of the castle and locking himself away to mourn. Two weeks had passed, and Greg had no intention of opening those doors for a while now, not until his time ran out. 

And it was about to.

 Thirty six days after the king's passing, Sally woke Greg from his sleep in the Prince's chambers since he hadn't the courage to move into his father's old room just yet, and gave him the news that he had not wanted to hear. 

"Sir, your betrothed is less than two hours ride away."

In the haze of losing his father, Greg had completely forgotten that he was to be married by the end of the week. French customs dictated that the betrothed lived in the home of the more powerful partner in the relationship just a few days before the wedding so they were able to get to know each other. It was just tradition. And Greg had completely forgotten about it. 

When he was called to finally open the doors to the castle for the first time in just over a month, Greg was dressed in some of his best clothes - a white blouse and black cotton trousers - and had his hair combed properly rather than its normal state of knotted frustration. He felt nothing like himself, and absolutely nothing like a king should. Since his father had died, Greg had not once felt like a king, and yet he was one. It made no sense. 

It wasn't until Greg saw the cart being pulled up the path to the castle that he became truly nervous. In the days leading up to this, he had been too busy to even remember that this was coming up, yet now his nerves had punched him in the face. 

The English prince stepped out of the cart and instantly bowed down to Greg, his head bowed as he introduced himself. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty. I thank you for allowing me to spend time in your castle and welcoming me into your kingdom."

Greg exchanged a glance with Sally, confused as to why someone would bow down to him when his father was in the castle, far more powerful than himself. Then it hit him and Greg had to steel himself so he didn't stagger backwards and make a fool out of himself. "I... ah... Thank you for coming. One of my servants will take your bags. Please, ah, follow me inside." 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah I'm so glad you guys enjoyed the first chapter! I know it was kind of disjointed, but I super enjoyed writing it!

Greg didn't wait to see if the prince was following behind him; the castle was so quiet that every sound was amplified. Even those impossibly quiet footsteps from the mystery prince. Why his father hadn't disclosed the man's name, Greg didn't know, and he had no idea of how he was going to get that information since the prince was obviously more knowledgable of the situation than the king was. Perhaps if his father had been alive longer, Greg would know more about the man he was supposed to share his kingdom with, however now he knew truly nothing. Nothing other than the gender and the home kingdom of his betrothed, and Greg had never felt more out of place.

For the first time in his life, the new king was walking through his castle with a complete stranger at his heels. Sally kept glancing at him as if he should say something, but Greg didn't know what. It was awkward, certainly, but how was he supposed to have a conversation with a stranger he was supposed to share the entirety of his life with. How was the weather in England? No, that sounded stupid. Could the prince speak French? Probably not if Greg had been taught to speak English for as long as he could speak. 

Someone clearing his throat behind Greg caught his attention and he turned around, noticing that the foreign prince was trying to catch his eye. It seemed to Greg that the man had been raised to be docile and compliant towards him, but perhaps that was just for when they were outside? Hopefully. 

"Yes?" Greg asked, raising an eyebrow. Perhaps he had come across a little cold towards the stranger, his  _betrothed_ , but he didn't know how else to speak. His father hd been the exact same way towards people and, while Greg never wanted to be like that towards others, his father's passing had truly changed him. His smile was gone, and people had begun to see the former king in the new one. 

The prince locked eyes with Greg for just a second before looking away. Once he appeared to remember his manners, the prince looked down and spoke. "I am under the impression that you know little about our relationship due to your father's passing. For that, I must offer my condolences. Our kingdom grieved alongside you." When Greg nodded his thanks and stopped walking outside of a large wooden door, the prince looked up once more. "My name is Prince Mycroft Holmes, second in line to the throne of England. My brother, Crown Prince Sherrinford Holmes, will take over from my father, and my younger brother, Prince Sherlock Holmes, is next in line," he recited, as if he had been told to speak those exact words. 

Greg was quiet for a while, processing the information. Mycroft Holmes. Prince Mycroft Holmes. How would that name have sounded if his father had been alive long enough to introduce them? "I appreciate your condolences," he whispered, keeping his voice quiet to hide the way it caught at the mention of his father. He had heard plenty of court members offering the same sort of kind thoughts regarding his passing, however it felt strange to come from someone he didn't know and it struck something inside of Greg. "I am King Gregory Lestrade. Recently appointed King," he rambled, voice dry as he spoke it. It hurt to speak his father's words, but he had to. 

With a glance to the people surrounding them, they carried Mycroft's bags inside the room to their left and then went back to their duties, leaving the two royals to talk. Greg smiled reassuringly at Sally and she left them also, squeezing Greg's arm reassuringly as she walked past him, bidding him good luck in French. 

"These are to be your chambers for the time being. Unfortunately, they are guest chambers, but they have not been used in years," Greg explained, his English a little disjointed but still almost fluent. More or less. "I am still living in the princes' chambers. I need to move into my... father's old rooms." 

Perhaps it was rather out of place, but Greg stepped into Mycroft's rooms and held the door open so he could step inside and look around. Even though he was technically a king now, Greg still felt like a child in a world that looked down on him. Perhaps having Mycroft in his castle and the wedding approaching at the end of the week would raise people's opinions of the boy king. 

Once Mycroft stepped inside the chambers, Greg propped the door open with a stopper and gestured to the rooms that he'd had Sally decorate with as much traditional English decor as she could find. It wasn't much, since it had been a very long time ago that he had been aware that someone was arriving in his castle, but it should be enough until they could move Mycroft into some new chambers. 

"These are very beautiful, Your Majesty," Mycroft said graciously, stepping into the bedroom and running his hand along the English tapestry that hung above his bed. "I appreciate the amount of work you have put into making me feel welcome. I had not expected this kind of reception," he said truthfully, looking at the king with sincerity in his eyes. It was nice to know that his work was appreciated, even if he wished that he had been able to put more effort into this. 

It seemed to Greg that there was nothing wrong with the man he had been betrothed to, and he was beginning to relax for the first time since his father's death. "I will leave you to get acquainted with your rooms. Someone will come and fetch you when dinner is being served." Greg folded his hands behind his back and turned on his heels to leave the room. "Please do not feel as though you are restricted to your own chambers. Explore if you wish. I only ask that you do not venture into the King and Queen suites," he added as he left, hearing a quiet 'yes, Your Majesty'. Greg left the prince's door open as he left, not wanting the man to feel trapped. 

-

Greg made his way down to the dining hall for dinner for the first time in just over a month. In the days leading up to his father's death, Greg had spent much of his time in his chambers while he worked on his studies and his art, and the days following he had been too scarred and upset to leave. However, Sally had advised him that this was the perfect opportunity to try and get his life back on track, and who was he to turn down the concerns of his advisor? 

Although, the moment Greg stepped into the hall and saw the prince sitting in his old chair and he realised that he was supposed to sit in the throne reserved for the king, he wanted to flee. He wanted to turn around and return to his chambers, locking himself away from the world once again. It was just another reminder to Greg that he was alone in this world, that he was an orphan forced to be someone he wasn't ready to be. 

"Your Majesty?" Mycroft asked, rising from his seat in both the standard form of greeting and also out of concern for the man who had been stood in the door for an unnatural amount of time. 

Mycroft's words snapped Greg out of his haze and he looked around, gesturing for Mycroft to take his seat as he walked over to his father's old chair. He ran his fingers softly along the wood and swallowed thickly, remembering the days he would sit and watch his mother and father speak. Those were the days where everyone was happy, rather than just Greg smiling. Those were the days he missed. Perhaps he would be able to create those memories with Mycroft in his castle. 

"My apologies," Greg said softy, sitting down in his father's chair as a servant pulled it out for him. "I was distracted for a moment. Lost in thought," he explained, his reassuring smile was more nervous and awkward however, but it was all he could manage. 

A kitchen servant announced what they were eating, a traditional French meal since they hadn't had the time to learn and prepare an English meal, and then serval others served them. Greg indicated that Mycroft could eat without waiting for him to speak, and then began to eat his own dinner without another word. Conversing with strangers had never been one of the new king's strong points, however he was going to try, if only for his father. 

"I hear that you are a painter," Greg announced, looking up from his meal and taking a sip of his wine. He had also heard that Mycroft preferred red wine, but he didn't want to seem desperate for companionship so he didn't read that up. 

Mycroft looked up from his plate and hummed softly, nodding his agreement. "Yes, Your Majesty. I paint, my elder brother enjoys writing, and my younger plays the violin. We are a creative family," he smiled, seemingly happy that he was able to speak about his family. It was something Greg was going to keep in mind. If family was so important to Mycroft, just as it was to Greg, he was going to make every effort to ensure the castle was reachable for the Holmes family.

Greg nodded, picking at his food. "I have a studio in the castle that was built specially for the creative arts, however I have never enjoyed working in it. If you would like, I can have the room furbished so you are able to work there."

The offer apparently surprised Mycroft as he sat back in his seat, arching an eyebrow under his ginger hair. Greg hadn't realised before then just how much he liked the English ginger. It wasn't something that was seen in his kingdom. 

"Your Majesty, I would not want to inconvenience you like that. You must already be a very busy man," Mycroft said softly, more courteous than anyone Greg had ever encountered had been. It was strange, but oddly he quite liked it. 

Greg raised his hands in a motion that indicated that it was no problem and gestured for a servant to come near. "Ensure that the gallery is fit for working in. Prince Mycroft will be using that at his own discretion. Ensure someone fits the room with the best paints and canvases in the lands." The servant bowed deeply and then nodded, hurrying out of the room to get to work with his new task. 

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Mycroft whispered, genuine shock and amazement in his voice. It seemed, to Greg, that the people in England had no idea of how the new king would act, and Mycroft had been raised under the impression that Greg would be exactly the same as his father. He wanted to disprove that as soon as possible. 

Greg cracked a genuine smile, admittedly a small one, for the first time in a while now, and it felt good. It felt really nice to smile again after so long, especially when the smile had been such a regular feature of Greg's expressions. Everyone loved his smile, and it seemed that it was making a reappearance thanks to the almost-stranger sitting at his dinner table.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your support on this! I've never been the type of person to share my writings, but this has really filled me with confidence!

Greg spent the day following Mycroft's arrival hunched over his desk in a position that Sally remarked was similar to the way his father would sit when he was trying to avoid something. The revelation that Greg was turning into his father was enough to force the king to leave his chambers and take a walk around the castle gardens. Even though the sun was shining high in the sky and the castle residents were walking around in nothing but blouses, Greg was freezing; not from the cold, but from his worries. He couldn't think of anything other than the fact that there was a stranger wandering around his castle, a stranger he was supposed to marry one day, and it seemed to Greg that they had nothing in common. Nothing at all. 

Mycroft was creative and sophisticated and polite; probably a skilled socialite and dancer. He would surely fit in with the court in France and he would probably do so far better than Greg ever had. As just a prince, people had considered Greg's behaviour and charm as a childish trait he would grow out of when he took the throne in years to come, but as he had prematurely took the throne people realised that he was not cut out for this. Where Mycroft was talented and mature, Greg's intelligence and skills lay in areas most considered unimportant. He could not dance; he couldn't paint or talk to people; he was scared of public speaking and had never made an announcement from the balcony of his chambers before, even if his father had been eager to do so. They had nothing in common. This marriage was doomed to fail, and Greg knew it. 

His father had paired them together, yet Greg couldn't understand why. However, if he had decided that Mycroft would be a good match for Greg, he had to try and make this work. After all, for all of their faults, the former King and Queen had never wanted anything other than for their son to be happy, and, even though they weren't here to ensure that, they were looking down on Greg from heaven and he still wanted to do them proud. 

By the time Greg had returned to his senses, his thoughts all sorted through and organised so they no longer bothered him, he found himself stood just a few doors away from the gallery. Why, he didn't know. He had never once felt the urge to visit the galleries before Mycroft had arrived. Curious as to what had led him here, Greg pushed open the door and stepped inside; the servants who were busy cleaning stopped to turn in his direction and bow deeply, rising only when Greg gestured for them to do so. It was one of the things he hated most about being king. 

"What brings you here, Your Majesty?" a voice asked from the back of the room, a voice Greg recognised although he couldn't place it until he approached. 

In the busyness of his schedule, Greg had completely forgotten that he had the room refurbished so the prince could return to his artwork and make him feel more at home in such unfamiliar lands. Now, it made sense as to why he'd brought himself here. 

Greg took a seat in front of Mycroft and his canvas, relaxing into the chair and letting the tension leave his body. How on earth did his father manage being king for so many years? "I needed a break from my work. I hadn't realised I had walked so far," he explained, looking up at Prince Mycroft and sighing slightly, carding a finger through his hair. It was an old habit, something that child-Greg had started doing, and Sally was constantly at his back for ruining his kingly image, but it was kind of like therapy for him. A small, second long therapy. 

Mycroft didn't seem to want Greg to leave, though, and the king was more than happy to stay in such a peaceful room for a little while. This was the last place anyone would look to drag him back to his duties. 

"I must thank you gratefully for preparing this room for me, Your Majesty. These paints are of a very high quality. Far higher than anything I had back in England," Mycroft hummed, putting his paints aside and moving around the canvas so he was able to talk to Greg properly. 

Greg shook his head, gesturing for Mycroft to return to his painting. "I am glad they are to your liking," Greg smiled, his English growing more fluent now he was able to use it in general conversation. It was a nice change from what he had been doing when his English speaking had only been experienced through lessons. "What are you working on?" 

Mycroft returned back to his work, although he was hardly as focussed as before now that he had been interrupted, not that he minded, though. "It is a landscape of the view from my balcony at home in England," he hummed, occasionally glancing at Greg over the top of his canvas. 

"May I see?" Greg asked curiously, waiting for Mycroft approval before he stood and made his way over to the prince's side, eyes widening and his jaw lowering ever so slightly as he saw the work on the canvas. It was truly beautiful. The prince truly had a talent that many would give their lives to be able to have for themselves, and he had been blessed with it at no cost. No wonder he seemed so popular with the English courts and was so confident in everything that he did. "This is astounding..." Greg whispered, not able to take his eyes off the painting as he took in every little detail of Mycroft's art. 

"I am glad you think so. My father didn't always approve of the ways I chose to spend my time, but the end result he always loved," Mycroft explained, continuing to paint as Greg watched over his shoulder. It seemed that he was far more comfortable with royalty than Greg was from the way he never flinched when he was around the new king. At least Greg didn't have to worry about trying to make the prince comfortable enough to speak to him. 

Greg looked around the studio and hummed, an idea coming to mind. Perhaps this would be the first decision he made as king. "I think it would be a shame for your art to stay here where it cannot be seen," he decided, stepping away from the canvas and sweeping his hand around the room. "What would you say to replacing some of the art that is currently in the castle with some of your own?"

Mycroft seemed stunned for a moment, his paint brush pulled away from the canvas as he processed what had been offered to him. This was the first step towards uniting two people and two kingdoms. "Your Majesty, are you sure you would like that? Surely the art around your castle is sentimental to you since your parents must have picked it out. I would not want to intrude on something so important to you."

Touched by Mycroft's concern, Greg allowed himself to crack a very slight smile, although it didn't last too long. "It's no intrusion. I have always hated the artwork in this place. It would be my absolute honour to display... my prince's work throughout our castle," he said, voice getting quieter as he spoke more. The words felt good in Greg's mouth, however, like they were supposed to be said. His prince. Their castle. 

"I... I do not know what to say," Mycroft whispered, biting down on his bottom lip in an manner unbefitting of a prince. Yet, it was strangely alluring. Well, perhaps not alluring, but cute. "If you would be okay with that, Your Majesty, I would love for my work to be displayed throughout...  _our_ castle," he decided, a slight flush on the prince's cheeks as he spoke. 

Greg smiled shyly again and nodded, leaving the prince to return to his work with the promise that they would meet at dinner once again.

It would take time, but Greg was beginning to forget the pain of losing his father, and he was certain that was because of the man he was now sharing his life with. Whatever it was, the king was just happy that his smile was beginning to return, even if it was a slow process. Greg was beginning to feel himself again after so many weeks of being lost.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Thank you for being patient with me! I went back to college on Monday so time is pretty limited right now. I also signed up for a creative writing magazine, and I really have a very small amount of time on my hands. So, thank you for being patient and, as exam season starts, please continue to be so!  
> This will probably be a short chapter - I have big plans for the next couple! But I can't say when they'll be up... Sorry! >.

On the eve of his wedding, Greg found himself sitting in the prince's chambers, his hands folded in his lap and his chin raised; looking like a true king should. His breathing was so even that it was almost as though he wasn't doing it anyway, controlling the rise and fall of his chest so his movements were incredibly limited. While he hadn't wanted to do this, not for a long time - not ever if it was up to Greg - he had been convinced by Mycroft to sit for his first royal portrait as king. It didn't really count as a royal portrait because Mycroft wasn't a registered artist, it was the closest he had ever come to allowing someone to paint his true likeness.

Why he was doing this now, Greg truly didn't know. It had taken two hours of convincing over dinner from Mycroft's behalf, and Greg had finally relented to sitting. Apparently, it was a wedding present, but the king couldn't understand why the prince thought he wanted a portrait of himself for his wedding. He would much rather prefer a painting of Mycroft, or his parents. Or perhaps his kingdom. However, Greg had never looked at himself in a mirror and wanted to display his likeness on the walls of his home. However, he was hardly going to turn down such a gift that would take so much time and effort. 

"I am afraid your gift is no where near as sentimental as this," Greg said quietly, not wanting to distract Mycroft from his efforts, with his tongue peeking out from between his lips and his brows slightly furrowed he looked like a true artist. Not that Greg ever doubted his skills. 

It took a few minutes, but eventually Mycroft looked up from his painting and gestured with his hand that Greg could take a short break and move around providing he remembered exactly how he was sitting. "It is truly no worries, Your Majesty," he hummed, refilling the paints on his palette. 

Greg rose from his seat and stretched his legs as he walked around the room, making sure he kept the promise he made to Mycroft earlier and not looking at the painting. The both of them wanted this to be a complete surprise. It surprised Greg that the prince hadn't stopped with the title now that they knew each other well and were both growing more comfortable around each other, however it wasn't something that he was going to raise as an issue. 

"I do wish I was able to provide you with something as thoughtful as this," Greg sighed.

Mycroft shook his head and smiled in amusement, glancing out the window for a moment before turning to Greg. It was already rather late, and Greg knew that he would get very little tonight - both from the painting and his nerves. "My King, you have already given me everything I could ask for. You have housed me, clothed me and provided me with the means to paint. You have hung my work on your walls and allowed my family to stay the night in your guest wings. There is nothing more in this world I could want before I wedding," Mycroft promised, picking up his palette as an indication that he was ready whenever Greg wanted to sit back down. 

It was all true, of course. Greg had done everything that Mycroft had listed, and more. Currently sleeping in the newly refurbished guest wings were Mycroft's parents and little brother; the corridors and rooms in that new wing were decorated with the artwork Mycroft had spent his days creating, and they both had the intention of redecorating the whole castle in the same style. Although they weren't best of friends with each other just yet, it was getting easier for them to communicate and spend extended periods of time together, which was a relief to everyone in the castle who were worried that Greg would never smile again. 

After a moment, Greg took his seat and tried to ensure he was back in the same position as before, allowing Mycroft to direct him into the correct position. No touching, though. Never touching. As friendly as they were with each other, they were not yet wed and such contact was not allowed, even though they were betrothed. Even though they were in private. They were both royalty, a king and a prince, and they were expected to be reserved and celibate until marriage. Apparently, that meant touching was also out of the picture. 

Greg was sure he could see the sun rising when Mycroft stepped back from his work and announced that he was finished. They both looked dead on their feet - or chair - and needed a full night's rest, but neither of them would get that. Not tonight. At most, they would be permitted two hours before they were jerked away to be prepared for their wedding day. 

"I cannot wait to see it," Greg hummed around a yawn as he rose from the chair, stretching slightly. He truly couldn't wait to fall into bed and allow himself a few moments of sleep before Sally woke him to oversee the planning for the day and to dress. However, a small part of him didn't really want to leave. 

Mycroft wasn't quite so obvious about is fatigue as he turned around and set the painting to dry, yawning then when he knew Greg couldn't see. "I cannot wait to see where you hang it."

Greg had hardly thought about that yet, and he wasn't going to keep himself awake tonight with those thoughts. "I will find the perfect place," he promised, leaving it at that for the time being. Right now, he had far too much on his mind to consider that just yet. It would have to wait a few days. "Goodnight, my Prince," he smiled, turning around and heading to the door. At this hour, the servants, maids and butlers would all be in bed, so Greg would be forced to make his own way to his chambers. Not that he minded. He knew these walls like the back of his hand from the years he had spent playing games and hiding from his lessons. These walls were his sanctuary, and tomorrow would be the first day since his coronation that Greg would have left the castle grounds. 

"Goodnight, my King," Mycroft smiled slightly, walking to the door to hold it open as Greg left the rooms. "I shall see you on the aisle," he whispered as if the silent faces of the castle would jerk awake with his words. As if they were a scandal. As if they hadn't been betrothed for most of their lives. 

Greg mirrored Mycroft's almost smile as he bid his goodbyes, bowing to the prince out of respect before he turned and left. In just a few hours, they would have a connection that few had in this kingdom, but to Greg that hadn't quite sunken in yet. Not quite. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this has been a long time coming and I'm so sorry, but I've been ridiculously busy. And each time I've tried to write this chapter, I've just not felt happy with what I was writing so it's continuously being deleted.  
> I've also been dealing with some personal stuff so I've really not felt like sitting down to write. I'm really sorry to all of you who have been waiting anxiously for this chapter!   
> I'll try and start writing more now I'm getting things back on track.

Since waking up, King Greg had spent every minute finalising details of seating plans and flower arrangements and musical scores; he had hardly had the time to realise that the event he was arranging was his own wedding. His own seating plan for the dinner and the flowers that would line his own aisle and the music that would accompany his betrothed as he walked down the aisle. Those thoughts hadn't crossed Greg's mind yet. Thankfully so. The night before, he had lain awake panicking that he would not make a good husband, that his betrothed would meld better with the court members than he did and many would wish to see Mycroft on the throne rather than himself. His biggest worry was that Mycroft would hate him and his kingdom and request to go home, because Greg knew he would not be able to say no.

However, Greg's distractions had meant that he didn't even remember the night before. He didn't really remember anything, thanks to the amount of whiskey that had passed his lips. His head was still pounding, but whether that was because of the alcohol or because of his nerves and stresses, Greg didn't know. He didn't want to know.

As the king watched the chapel come together - an aspect of English tradition that he wished to respect in their wedding - Greg felt his being begin to relax, his heart rate slowing and his breathing evening out. Things were coming together and looking like a venue his mother would be proud to see her son wed in. The flowers were fresh from her gardens, and they were scattered throughout the chapel. They were in bouquets at the end of each row of seats and were hung on the walls in buckets. It was perfect. Greg knew it was. 

When he allowed himself to be escorted back to his chambers to be dressed in his wedding suit, Greg felt the anxiety building in his chest once again. Sally was by his side, running through arrangements in the hopes of distracting him, but it wasn't working. Someone pulled the white jacket cautiously over his shoulders, careful not to dislodge the military medals that littered the lefthand side of his chest. He had never been to war, but Greg had earned those medals just as any true soldier would; but he had earned them in strategising rather than fighting, and it was tradition for a soldier to wear his medals on their wedding day. The jacket settled on Greg's shoulders like the weight of the world was crushing him; his knees buckled and Sally, alongside three other servants, were there to catch him as Greg's body felt weak. His skin was pale and his eyes were glazed over. It was only a matter of seconds before Greg became dead weight and he fainted, suit crinkling as the servants lay the king down on his bed. 

No one wished to contact the English Prince, especially since most couldn't speak to him, but eventually Sally stormed off and found her way to Mycroft's chambers, summoning him with a gesture since she couldn't speak much English. Mycroft followed dutifully, anxiously, behind Sally, knowing he would only have been summoned if there was something terribly wrong. He just hoped that the marriage would go ahead, because he couldn't afford to see his kingdom disappointed with the failure. 

"Mon Roi," Mycroft breathed, the few words of French he actually knew seemed very appropriate in that moment. "Laisse nous," he said quietly but firmly, ordering the servants, and even Sally, to leave them alone. Once they were truly alone, the door shut behind them, Mycroft knelt down next to the bed and sighed upon seeing the creases in Greg's jacket. Knowing no one would see, Mycroft slowly eased the unconscious man out of the jacket and hung it over the mannequin the servants had left behind, brushing the fabric so it lay flat. There would be no time to repress the fabric, and Mycroft wanted to ensure that everything went perfectly even if his betrothed was unconscious. 

Without touching, Mycroft knelt by Greg's side and lay his hand near to the king's, not wishing to brush fingers without consent. "My King, please awake," he whispered, looking around in the hopes that there was a sundial in the room, but of course the king who hated being stuck to a schedule had no such thing. How much time was there left until the ceremony began? In English tradition, the betrothed's were not to see each other until they walked into the venue, but these circumstances allowed for some potential bad luck from the gods. 

"Please, Your Highness," Mycroft whispered, leaning his forehead against the bed and closed his eyes, praying to the gods that Greg would wake in time for the wedding to proceed smoothly.

It could have been minutes, or it could have been an hour, but Greg finally began to stir. Mycroft jerked back and rose from his knelt position, taking up a place a few feet away from the king so he didn't look like he had crossed any boundaries, even though he technically hadn't. As he watched the king wake, Mycroft couldn't help but feel like he was watching something so intimate that he should have had the decency to leave the room. At least until they were wed. But he wanted to be sure of his king's health and ensure he was fit to continue with the wedding, so Mycroft stayed and waited for Greg to come to his senses. 

With a groan, Greg propped himself up on his elbows and looked around for Sally, startled when he couldn't see her anywhere inside his chambers. She was always waiting for him when there was a big event to prepare for, and her absence on his wedding day set Greg's nerves on edge. Instead of his trusted advisor, however, his betrothed stood close to the window, an anxious expression on his face. Clearly, he had been unconscious for quite a while. 

"Have I missed the wedding?" Greg managed to ask, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips, though he was worried also. Part of him truly wished to be wed to the man he had spent the most recent time of his life getting to know and and growing familiar with; but a more selfish part of him worried that missing the wedding would halt the union of the two kingdoms and perhaps spark a war. At least a small battle. It could present Greg in the harshest of lights, and the part of him that recognised himself as king knew he needed to ensure this day passed by smoothly. 

Mycroft shook his head, clearly chewing on the inside of his cheek as he tried not to smile. "We were all very concerned, Your Highness, but you still have the time necessary to dress and investigate the venue, ensuring it meets your standards," he promised, holding back a quiet sigh of relief. He couldn't have done this by himself. 

Nodding, Greg pushed himself from the bed and steadied himself on his feet before he approached the mannequin, running his finger over the lapels on his jacket. "You were not supposed to see this until the ceremony," he remarked, brushing some dust off of the collar. 

"My apologies," Mycroft said quickly, averting his gaze from the truly beautiful jacket, hoping that his presence hadn't offended his betrothed, especially not now. "I have to inform you, My King, but we are on a tight schedule. I am acutely aware of your advisor. She will probably be arriving soon. Shall I inform her that you are awake?" Already half way to the door, Mycroft was keen to ensure the day planned out exactly as they had imagined it in their discussions. As per his English traditions, Mycroft shouldn't even be in the room with Gregory, but these circumstances allowed it, in his opinion. 

"Please," Greg decided, offering Mycroft a reassuring smile as the prince left, not waiting for Sally as he lift the heavy jacket over his shoulders and buttoned it at the stomach. With shaky hands, Greg straightened out his clothes, pulling the sleeves down straight and flattening his lapels. 

When the door opened again and Sally popped her head around with a quiet 'Sir?', Greg looked to her with a hopeful smile, to which she nodded her approval. Proud, Greg approached his oldest friend and clasped her hands between his own strong ones, squeezing them softly. "Accompany me," he whispered, allowing her to lead him down to the venue so he could run his final inspections.


End file.
